


Underneath the Christmas Lights

by nonnymouse



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Forced Marriage, Object Insertion, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonnymouse/pseuds/nonnymouse
Summary: Emily is too old for her parents to treat her like a little kid. Her father's boss thinks so, too.
Relationships: Boss/Employee's daughter at the company holiday party
Comments: 4
Kudos: 126
Collections: Naughty List 2020





	Underneath the Christmas Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allyoops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoops/gifts).



"You can go in front of me," Emily said to the woman who walked up with her little girl, who was no more than four at the oldest. She could walk on her own, but she had her thumb stuck firmly in her mouth.

"Emily!" her mom hissed. "We'll never be done at this rate."

"It's only fair I go last," Emily insisted. She knew her mother and father wanted to go on to the adult's section of the holiday party, but they were the ones who wanted a family picture with Santa Claus. They were the ones who hadn't listened when Emily said she was too old. And she was. She was the oldest in line by at least five years. She was in high school, real high school, not just the ninth-grade campus.

She might not be an adult, but she wasn't a _kid_. Not to anyone but her parents.

Her mom had even forced her to wear a girl's dress, insisting that all the dresses Emily pulled from the junior's section were too immodest.

Emily thought her mom's choice wasn't particularly decent. It wasn't just that it made her look horrible (though it did), the proportions all wrong and making her gangly limbs look even more awkward. The plaid taffeta skirt was supposed to be tea length, but it came to just above her knees. It didn't even have the benefit of making her legs look impressively long. They looked spindly, like those of a newborn fawn.

But worse was the top, with a square neck and empire waistline. It was so tight Emily hadn't been able to get it zipped with a bra on. She was thankful the black velvet was thick enough her nipples didn't show, though they threated to pop out if she breathed too deeply. She'd already resolved not to eat, even though she loved the delightful canapes her father's company catered. The too-small top pushed her breasts together and up, since there wasn't room for them in the top. She hadn't even realized how big her breasts had gotten until she looked down and saw them there, her cleavage swelling like one of the heroines on the covers of the romances in the checkout lane that she wasn't allowed to read.

She'd always wanted bigger breasts, but not spilling out of her dress at the holiday party with everyone looking at her. She wanted to put on a sweater and hide in the corner of the kid's area, but she couldn't do that until the Santa photo was taken and her parents dropped her off. Apparently, her sweater ruined the look.

And it was Emily's own fault the pictures weren't already done, but she wasn't making a three-year-old wait to sit on Santa's lap for her.

Finally, they were the last ones.

"Go sit on Santa's lap, Em-bear," her father said indulgently.

Emily turned bright red, sitting down as fast as possible in Mr. Wortner's lap. For it was Mr. Wortner, the owner of the company, who played Santa for all the children before changing out of his costume to host the dinner for his employees while their children played under the watchful eye of professional babysitters. His wife, a beautiful blonde woman, had been Mrs. Claus, back when Emily had enjoyed telling Santa what she wanted. But she'd died young, some sort of cancer, but Emily hadn't been told much since she'd been a child.

Of course, sitting down so hastily had caused the short skirt to fly up in back, the front riding high. Normally she'd stand and readjust the skirt, sitting more carefully, but the party had already turned into an ordeal and she didn't want her mom to scold her for not sitting like a lady the first time.

"Your father hasn't noticed you aren't a child, has he?" Mr. Wortner asked her under his breath, whisking the decorative blanket draping the sleigh they sat in over her lap, so no one could see up her skirt.

Thankful for his quiet intervention, Emily nodded slightly, the motion meaning she caught sight on the swell of her breasts again. She blushed, knowing what Mr. Wortner must have seen when he looked down.

As the photographer directed her parents how to stand and pose behind the sleigh, she felt Mr. Wortner's hand on her thigh. She thought he was going to adjust her skirt for her, but then his hand moved under her skirt, pushing her underwear aside. His fingers stroked her slit.

Emily sat still, staring straight ahead at the camera, her smile freezing in place. Mr. Wortner had the best Santa costume money could buy, and the black gloves he wore were real leather and trimmed with real white fox fur. She could feel the fur tickling her thighs. But most of all, she could feel the buttery leather stroking along her skin.

Her stomach swooped. She was interested in boys, she thought. She was pretty sure. There was this one guy in her geometry class—anyway, she sometimes felt that swoop when he brushed his hair out of his eyes. She'd had health class already. She knew what she was feeling. But she wasn't sure knowing the scientific terms made it better.

Her legs trembled. She wanted to look back at her mom, but she couldn't tell her parents. She'd heard her father lecturing her mom after watching the news, about how those women brought it on themselves. This was her fault, for letting her mom bully her into wearing this dress. She'd sat too fast and shown Mr. Wortner almost the whole length of her leg. Was it no wonder he'd thought about what lay in that last inch he couldn't see?

Emily felt herself growing damp between her legs in response to Mr. Wortner's fingers circling her clitoris. She'd never been so aware of her own body as when Mr. Wortner dragged one finger through that wetness and then pushed it into her. She let out a strangled gasp.

"That's perfect!" the photographer said. "You look as thrilled to see Santa as the little kids do." He took a few more photos, and the click of his shutter blended into the feel of Mr. Wortner's finger pushing in and out of her. "Let's rearrange you and have a few of just the girl and Santa."

She let out a sigh of relief as Mr. Wortner pulled his finger out of her, lifting his hand over the blanket as he shifted her around. Somehow, she found herself with her legs spread over his lap, Mr. Wortner's arms wrapped around her in a friendly seeming hug. She could feel him beneath her and she squirmed.

"In 3-2—"

"Whoops!" Mr. Wortner interrupted, pretending Emily's squirming had caused her to almost fall. It was too late to stop the photographer from pressing his finger and taking the photo. At the end of the night her parents would be handed an envelop of prints, and one of them would be that one, Emily's started face and the tip of Mr. Wortner's erection slid into her and took her virginity.

He settled her back onto his erection, not filling her completely. But he felt thick, stretching her wide open in violation.

"Such a pretty girl," the photographer said in admiration. "So gamine. Such big, bright eyes, like a deer in headlights."

Emily smiled politely in response, not trusting herself to say anything without making some noise that would reveal what was happening.

"Why don't you kiss Santa?" he asked, and Emily kept smiling as she turned to kiss Mr. Wortner on the cheek. She was sure her parents would exclaim over how cute she looked and frame that picture for the mantel.

He took a few final shots and Emily relaxed, knowing it was over.

Emily hastily jumped out of Mr. Wortner's lap, running her hands down the skirt of her dress, hoping desperately there wasn't any sort of proof her parents could see. In front of her, the photographer was efficiently packing his tripod away, leaving to photograph the party.

"Say, Clemens, do you mind if I borrow your daughter? I could use a young person to help put some of this stuff away."

"Sure, sure," her father said, eager to help his boss.

"You'll drop her off at the children's area?" her mom asked.

"Of course! Go enjoy yourselves," Mr. Wortner admonished them, shooing them away. "Have some eggnog."

Emily watched her parents abandon her. When Mr. Wortner grabbed her by the elbow, she tried to shake him off. There was no one here to witness her shame now, so she could fight back.

He slapped her. "You already let me fuck you right in front of your parents, slut. There's no point in playing the innocent virgin now."

Blinking in surprised pain—no one had ever slapped her—Emily stumbled behind him as he yanked her along to the table that had been laid with peppermint sticks for the children. The nice ones, a foot long and an inch thick. Only a few were left. He ripped down the final swag of twinkling rainbow lights as he shoved her down onto the table with one hand. He held her there as he wrapped the lights around her wrists, tying them tight. The lights were still anchored to the ceiling, so they pulled her arms up above her, her shoulders aching.

"Do you know how many dress code complaints I get from your father? If a half-inch too much of a woman's leg is showing, I know it. Now I know why he's so on guard, with a girl like you at home." His hands slid around to her front, and Emily realized her breasts had popped out her top as his fingers tweaked her nipples. "Got some great whore tits on you."

Emily gasped in outrage. She might have tempted him, but that didn't make her—it didn't make her— He ripped one of the peppermint sticks open, shoving the length of it into her mouth, shockingly cool. "Suck on that, baby girl. You gotta keep quiet for this next part."

He flipped her skirt up and whistled. "Look at that pretty cunt, all flushed and pink."

Emily had never heard it called a cunt before, and it made something in her tighten. Maybe she was a whore. Girls had breasts and vaginas, but she had tits and a cunt.

"You like that, do you?" he asked, stroking her cunt again. "But I think we have some redecorating to do. Pink isn't a Christmas color. Red is."

She didn't know what he meant until he slapped her, his hand cracking across the length of her cunt. Her teeth clenched, filling her mouth with the sharp taste of peppermint. His hand came down again, five fast, furious strokes that made her jump and squeal, her arms bobbing up and down as far as they could. When he rubbed her cunt again, he told her that she was even wetter than when he started, and she wasn't surprised.

She was surprised when he shoved the length of himself into her. From this angle he filled her deeply, nothing like the shallow penetration in the sleigh. He felt enormous, her legs automatically widening to help take him in so that he didn't split her in half, but somehow, he fit without breaking her. He fucked her roughly, her nipples rubbing against the velvet tablecloth in a way that hurt, but also made her want to press her chest down harder. She couldn't, not with her arms lifted the way they were. The lights poked into her wrists as her arms jangled wildly, completely out of her control. Her hips banged against the table, a bruise for every time his hips slapped against her, his cock sheathing itself within her cunt.

She must be a whore, because Mr. Wortner owned her as thoroughly as if he'd paid for her.

She was grateful for the peppermint stick to suck, giving herself something to distract herself with. But not even the sucking could hide the way that swooping in her stomach was building to something more.

That was what really made her a whore, the way she exploded into an endless wave of pleasure as Mr. Wortner used her as a consequence of tempting him with the sight of her body. Emily enjoyed herself as much as he did, the twinkling of the Christmas lights glowing behind her eyelids, filling her.

She shivered, hanging there with her bottom bare as Mr. Wortner composed himself. Without his body covering her, her wet cunt was chilled. She hung there for his judgment.

"I wonder if I got you pregnant," he said. "I supposed I'd be stuck paying for the bastard. No abortions for you, not with your father."

This was what finally made tears spring to Emily's eyes, imagining walking down the halls of her school with a baby inside her, everyone knowing what a wanton slut she had been.

"I could do the right thing if you end up pregnant. But would that look good for me, walking down the aisle with a pregnant teenager? No, best to marry you before you show. I wouldn't be the first rich man to marry a little tart and knock her up immediately."

His words didn't make much sense, so Emily ignored them, focusing only on the taste of peppermint in her mouth. When he let her arms down and unbound her, helping her stand, all she could do was look down at herself, at her bared tits, and think how upset her mom would be that she'd ruined her new dress. She was supposed to wear it to the Christmas Eve service.

Mr. Wortner pulled the peppermint stick from her mouth and studied it. "I can't wait to use your mouth," he commented, before breaking off the used end on the table and twisting the plastic closed. He shoved the unopened end in her cunt, and all she could think was that it suited her to be filled. She was a creature made to serve at men's pleasure, so she'd have to do her best to fulfill her role now that she'd failed to protect her virginity.

Docilely, she followed Mr. Wortner up the stairs to his bedroom, sinking into the vanity chair when he pressed on her shoulders. She watched as he dressed himself in a suit, forest green shirt and red silk tie. He put cosmetics in her hands and she put them on her face, mascara and eyeliner and lipstick as bright as his tie. He helped her comb her tangled hair and sweep it into a low bun, pinning it in place with a jeweled comb. Ruby drops accented her bare ears, making her neck look long and lean.

He helped her out of her crumpled dress and soaked panties. She didn't know what to call the contraption he put her into, like a swimsuit made of lace. It helped hold the peppermint stick within her, and she knew it would shift within her during the entire length of the dinner. He pinched her nipple through the delicate fabric, and she shivered.

He pulled a dress over her head, a waterfall of red silk. It was cut in a vee over her breasts that somehow managed to show less cleavage than the one she'd been wearing. It glided over her hips, somehow making the shape of her look graceful.

She'd looked like a gawky, overgrown kid at the start of the night. Emily had never been sure she believed that losing your virginity made you a woman, but she'd believe that the person in the mirror was in her twenties. She looked mature, and she felt mature now. She'd crossed through the crucible into adulthood.

Mr. Wortner slid a ring onto his finger. "Most employees I'd worry about them kicking up a fuss, but I suspect your father will eagerly give his permission for you to marry. Marry them young before they get themselves into trouble."

Life snapped back into focus as Emily stared at the diamond on her finger. It was huge, but somehow not tacky due to the delicate gold setting. It looked antique. It was true, that her mom fussed about how Emily looked and acted so that she could find a man who would marry and take care of her. Her mom was very proud of landing her father, a man with a good job who could afford for her to stay at home, as a wife should. It struck her that her mother would be jealous of a woman with her ring, bigger and more tasteful than her own.

Mr. Wortner draped his arms around his shoulders. "Let's go down and tell everyone the good news."

Emily smiled at the woman in the mirror. It was amusing, imagining her parent's faces as they learned she'd fulfilled their every hope for her, and several years early.


End file.
